


82

by Villanon



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, My First Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villanon/pseuds/Villanon
Summary: Written for a prompt for a wonderful KE authors group I'm in - the general premise is that Eve is an RA and Villanelle is breaking allllllllll the rules.It's 10k in total ... which roughly translates into: 1k intro, 8k spanking and 1k smut.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 149





	82

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my KE Writers Group - you're all awesome <3
> 
> Lots and lots of thanks to Lexus who taught me all about spanking, without your words of encouragement (*coughs*) this would never have been written at all.
> 
> If you read Blessed please don't expect anything remotely similar to happen in this (except for few splashes of humour).

The concept of an RA is foreign, but she’s not from here, so nobody thinks anything of it when she has to ask.

  
  


It is strange, after years of doing as she pleases to have someone, a stranger, telling her what to do.

  
  


That’s how it feels at first, anyway. And Villanelle does not like the RA, she does not like _Eve_.

  
  


Eve is a powerhouse, and Villanelle works that out quickly. Eve is controlling and rule abiding, and their dorm is _so orderly_ because of it. Their dorm is _so boring_ , because of it.

  
  


Eve has a small, laminated copy of the rules that she carries around in her pocket _at.all.times_. There’s eleven, and if you break one Eve will get her list out and highlight it, and make you read it out to her word for word.

  
  


Villanelle had refused at first, because nobody tells her what to do, certainly not a stranger, certainly not an RA. But then, Eve would not back down, and Villanelle had been drunk at the time so slurring out the stupid rule seemed like a small sacrifice to make, because she was fairly confident she would not remember it in the morning anyway.

  
  


“Rule four. It is _forbidden_...”

  
  


The word forbidden had made her smirk, she did not really know why. But she liked the force behind it, and it struck her that perhaps she quite liked saying it to Eve. Because even though the world had been a little askew, a little fuzzy and cloudy around the edges, when she’d caught Eve’s eye she’d suddenly become stone cold sober.

  
  


Eve’s gaze had been intense yet open, patient yet impatient, all at once. And there had suddenly been something unspoken between them, something that Villanelle had not experienced before; an expectation for her to see this through, an expectation for her to do the _right thing._

  
  


And nobody had ever expected Villanelle to do the right thing before. Nobody expected Villanelle to be _good,_ simply because she is not. Villanelle is selfish and unashamed, and careless with others, and even herself sometimes. Villanelle does not seek to please anyone, but in that moment Villanelle had wanted to please Eve.

  
  


“Continue.” Eve had prompted then, her dark eyes still fixed with Villanelle’s, her voice solemn, and calm.

  
  


Villanelle wanted nothing more than to continue, and after a small, but sharp inhale she had:

  
  


“ _Rule four. It is forbidden to be under the influence of alcohol, toxic or narcotic substances...”_

  
  


And Villanelle had taken another breath then, wet her lips slightly before adding:

  
  


“I am sorry for getting myself sooo drunk, Eve.”

  
  


Perhaps she was genuinely sorry, or perhaps she was not. But either way, there was something pleasing about giving an apology to Eve, about feeding her hungry powerhouse a little bit more.

  
  


“Don’t let me catch you doing it again.” Eve had warned, and then her shoulders had dropped and her eyes had softened, the circuit finally complete.

  
  


Their hands had brushed lightly as Villanelle returned the laminated rule sheet, and Villanelle liked the soft feel of Eve’s skin, and the buzz of her touch.

  
  


Eve, who is always prepared for every potential eventuality, had then reached into her other pocket and produced a blister pack of Advil.

  
  


“Take two of these and get some sleep, you’re going to feel like hell in the morning.”

  
  


And that was when Villanelle had realised that Eve was not _just_ a complete and utter control freak, because in that moment Eve had also shown her that she cared too, about the students in the dorm and, therefore, about Villanelle. And along with no one having ever had any expectations of her, no one had ever really cared about her before either.

  
  


It felt nice... it felt new, and Villanelle wanted to feel more of it.

  
  


So, Villanelle worked her way through all eleven rules. Sometimes she would just break the same one over and over again, other times she would break two or three different ones at once. And Eve would have her apologise every.single.time.

  
  


Sometimes, Eve would even spend time with her afterwards. It was never long, just a ten or fifteen minutes usually, and Eve would ask if everything is okay. Those were Villanelle’s favourite times, because sometimes if she felt inclined she would shake her head and Eve would put her arms around her, and say something cliche like:

  
  


“I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

  
  


Villanelle has not been held often in her life, and it was a little strange at first, but she soon grew to like the smell of Eve’s skin and hair, and the way her hands would clasp reassuringly behind her back.

  
  


But tonight, tonight she is going for her grandest total yet. Tonight Villanelle has broken eight rules, a feat that has involved rearranging and refurnishing one of the common spaces, a small fire, the temporary adoption of a pet, bringing back not just one but three girls to her dorm room, very loud music and - _of course_ \- lining her room and guests with copious amounts of alcohol.

  
  


Villanelle hasn’t drunk anything herself though, despite the temptation to break nine rules, because she is giddy enough already with the anticipation of Eve’s arrival. Her room is strewn with clothing that belongs to her three now partially naked house-guests, her music is blaring out well past curfew, and the air is still acrid and foggy from the fumes of the poorly extinguished waste paper fire.

  
  


Eve pounds on the door, and Villanelle knows it’s her purely because no one else would dare.

  
  


“Yes, Eve?” Villanelle asks as she swings the door wide open, because she wants to flaunt her complete disregard for the rules, she wants Eve to see every ounce of prohibited mayhem that is taking place inside her dorm room.

  
  


Villanelle watches Eve’s face with delight as her expression rolls from anger, to disbelief and finally settles on fury.

  
  


Eve is _furious_ with her. Villanelle feels excited now but also a little nervous, because she has never seen her quite so cross before.

  
  


There’s a pause in time, where Eve’s eyes continue to scan the room, and the three house-guests giggle on the bed, and the temporary pet hamster suddenly scuttles towards the open doorway in its little plastic ball.

  
  


Eve stops it with her foot.

  
  


The girls stop giggling.

  
  


“Get out.” Eve’s voice is low, almost growling, but the music is still loud. Far too loud for her voice to be heard across the room.

  
  


Realising this, Eve scoops up the hamster in its ball, pushes past Villanelle and yanks the stereo plug out of the wall, plunging them into silence.

  
  


“Get dressed, and get out.” Eve says now, and Villanelle widens her eyes, shrugging at the girls. “House-guests are not allowed after 2300 hours, this is a direct breach of rule-“

  
  


“Six. I know.” Villanelle supplies with a cheeky smile, and Eve’s eyes narrow.

  
  


“Why does it smell like a bonfire in here?” Eve is stalking the room now, checking for other violations, and Villanelle’s heart is thudding. “You have enough alcohol in here to inebriate an entire sorority!”

  
  


“Mmm.” Villanelle hums back, pleased by the idea, and vaguely registering her guests leaving out of the corner of her eye.

  
  


“ _You stole university property?!_ ” Eve points to the space above the head of Villanelle’s bed, where she’s carefully hung three directional signs for mathematics, art and biology. The biology sign hangs vertically, pointing downwards towards the bed.

  
  


“I didn’t want people to get lost...” Villanelle tilts her head ever so slightly. “Do you like biology, Eve?”

  
  


The question is entirely lost on Eve, who has already moved on, tutting and tsking now at the general messiness of the place, and the discarded fire extinguisher, and the still smouldering waste paper bin.

  
  


Eve suddenly turns to Villanelle, holding the hamster ball aloft in the palm of one hand.

  
  


“And this?!”

  
  


“This, is Gizmo.” Villanelle answers evenly. “The guy at the pet store said do not _ever_ feed him after midnight.”

  
  


Eve stares at her blankly, her lips pulled tight, without even a hint of a smile.

  
  


“Have you not seen Gremlins?” Villanelle asks now, growing a little bit frustrated by 

the lack of a response. “It is a great movie.”

  
  


Eve slowly lowers Gremlin and his ball to the floor, and Villanelle watches her curiously as she straightens back up and folds her arms.

  
  


“Do you know how many rules you’ve broken?”

  
  


Villanelle considers her answer, because of course she knows, she’d planned this whole thing out after all.

  
  


“Eight. I broke eight rules.”

  
  


She decides there’s no point in lying, because they both know she could recount the entire list of rules verbatim, she’s seen it so many times.

  
  


“I don’t mean tonight!” Eve sounds snippy, her tone clipped and hard. “You’ve been a resident here for over a month now, do you know how many rules you’ve broken so far, _in total?_ ”

  
  


Villanelle stiffens, surprised by the question.

  
  


“Uh, no? I have not been keeping track, Eve.”

  
  


“Well I have!” Eve exclaims, and she’s pulling out a notebook now, a frigging notebook. “February 8th you had someone stay overnight and you were intoxicated, February 11th you moved all the _communal_ kitchen appliances into _your_ room, February 17th you had _two_ guests stay overnight, you were intoxicated _again,_ and you disturbed four other room-mates, February 20th-“

  
  


“Wowwww! You are a little obsessed with me, don’t you think?”

  
  


“It’s my j _ob_ , Villanelle! And it’s _eighty-two_ , eighty-two violations in _six weeks!_ ”

  
  


Villanelle isn’t sure how she’s supposed to react, because Eve has never been like this before, normally she just pulls out the rule card, has Villanelle apologise and that’s it, they’re done. But tonight Eve is running her hands through her hair, and her foot is tapping, and she’s _scowling_ at her.

  
  


Eve is _pissed off_ , and Villanelle should feel delighted to have gotten under her skin, to see her so frazzled, but she doesn’t. Instead, there is a strange sense of disquiet and unrest in the air, a burgeoning pressure of uncertainty that leaves Villanelle feeling lost and unfamiliar, and perhaps even unsteady in some way.

  
  


Villanelle shifts on her feet, as though the physical act of rebalancing herself may actually yield some kind of resolution to her newfound inner turmoil.

  
  


“I-“ She goes to speak, to seek out an answer or some sense of direction, but Eve cuts her off with an immediate wave of her hand.

  
  


“Quiet! I’m thinking.” Eve’s brow is furrowed, like she’s deeply troubled by her predicament. “I should report you.” She says finally, lifting her eyes to Villanelle’s. And it’s intense all over again, their shared stare. “I should report you and then you’d be expelled.”

  
  


Villanelle swallows because she doesn’t much like the idea of being expelled; she likes it here, she likes the lectures and the teachers, she likes her messy little dorm room and she likes Eve. She likes having someone to keep her in line, she likes having someone to look out for her, and she really does not want it to stop any time soon.

  
  


“Don’t-“ Villanelle isn’t even sure what words are going to follow, but Eve flattens the sentence before it can even take to the air.

  
  


“Did I say you could speak yet?” Eve’s voice is so loud against the quiet of the room, and Villanelle surprises herself by giving a small, quick shake of her head. 

  
  


Her automatic response is delivered before she has any inclination for thought; but the thoughts eventually follow, and she asks herself why she is letting Eve get away with this, and why she is letting Eve speak to her in such a disrespectful manner. Only, Villanelle does not feel disrespected, she feels intrigued and beholden. She feels so utterly beholden, waiting to hear what Eve will say to her next.

  
  


“I’ve tried everything.” Eve speaks again, her voice lower now, like it’s a precursor to a rumble of thunder. “You’ve apologised so many times, and nothing changes. _Nothing_. I’ve been nice to you, I’ve tried to talk to you, but you just keep doing the same things wrong, over and over again. And now this?” Eve gestures around them, bringing Villanelle back to the smoky atmosphere and half finished bottles of wine and beer. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

  
  


Villanelle opens her mouth to speak but then remembers she can’t, so she just stands there, lips slightly parted and heart hammering.

  
  


Eve eyes narrow again, but it’s different this time, it’s less angry and more quizzical, as though she’s trying to figure something out, as though she’s trying to figure Villanelle out.

  
  


“I think...” Eve drops her eyes for a moment, a second at most, and when she lifts them again it’s like her whole demeanour has changed. The uncertainty is gone from her face, her body is no longer tense, and she is almost eerily calm. “I think you need to apologise to me _properly_ , this time.”

  
  


Villanelle waits expectantly for Eve to produce her little laminated list of rules, so that she can commence her apology like all the other times, but she does not. 

  
  


Instead Eve pulls what is presumably the key to her own dorm room from the back pocket of her jeans.

  
  


“Follow me.”

  
  


It is not a question, but Villanelle nods anyway, her breath quite literally sticking to her throat like it’s suddenly too thick to be pushed back out. 

  
  


Villanelle has never been to Eve’s room before, she’s not sure anyone has really, because Eve is a private person when she’s not patrolling the halls. And as they walk the length of the dimly lit corridor, with Eve several paces ahead, Villanelle allows herself to imagine what she thinks Eve’s room will be like, and even what she thinks it may smell like.

  
  


Villanelle decides it will be a floral smell, and that maybe there’ll be art on the walls, and open books resting across every surface, with a few half-finished cups of coffee nearby. Villanelle knows Eve likes coffee, because she’s seen her with a little red thermos in the morning, and she’s smelt the nutty and caramelised aroma as she’s walks past.

  
  


Eve swings open the door with very little fanfare, the hinges releasing a small, protesting squeak, and as it turns out very little fanfare is required. The room is almost bare, so minimalist it doesn’t even look like Eve lives here, in fact it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.

  
  


“Hey, err, Eve, I think someone stole all your stuff?” Villanelle says without thinking, and Eve gives her a slightly sideways look. “Sorry. I forgot, you had not said I could speak yet.”

  
  


Eve acknowledges the admission with a small nod.

  
  


“You can speak now. Go and sit down over there.”

  
  


Villanelle does as she’s told, depositing herself neatly into the small wooden desk chair, her knees touching and hands folding in her lap. She takes a moment to survey the barren room again, and breathes in deeply. The scent is not floral like she predicted, it’s better: it’s crisp and sweet, like green apples.

Eve closes the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment as though trying to collect herself. She then turns, surveying Villanelle again, her eyes seeming to comb over her every feature.

  
  


“I don’t know what to do with you.” Eve breathes out, and it’s quiet, words fed through the barest whisper of air. “I’ve been doing this job for over a year now, and I’ve never had anyone be so...” Eve’s forehead creases again. “So insolent.”

  
  


Insolent.

  
  


Villanelle shifts a little in her chair, because she thinks that is a very good word to describe her, and Eve says it like she means it, like it deeply affects her in some way.

  
  


“What will you do with me, then?” Villanelle asks, keeping her voice small and her head slightly dipped. “Will you report me? I do not want to be expelled, Eve. I like it here and I am doing very well in my classes, all my teachers say so.”

  
  


Villanelle watches Eve for some kind of feedback, because she’s spent most of her life manipulating people and changing the course of their actions or intentions with her words.

  
  


Eve however does not seem at all phased by her attempt, if anything, she looks completely nonplussed.

  
  


“That’s irrelevant to me. My only concern is for this dorm, and for the welfare of the students who are living in it.” A beat. “But I won’t report you. At least, not until we’ve tried everything else first.”

  
  


“Everything else?” Villanelle asks curiously, because she can’t really imagine what more she can do to show Eve how sorry she is, and how much she wants to stay. 

  
  


“How do you feel about being punished?” Eve speaks in a little bit of a rush, but Villanelle doesn’t think she sounds nervous, she thinks she sounds excited.

  
  


“Err...” Villanelle is seldom lost for words, and she suspects that’s probably because she can speak so many languages, but right now she can’t think of single, solitary word to say in any language at all. “Fffft...” The unrecognisable sound squeezes between her pursed lips instead, and they suddenly feel too dry, and she suddenly feels too hot.

  
  


And If Eve is troubled by her silence it doesn’t show, in fact Eve looks entirely comfortable in her waiting.

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle finally manages, the word clawing it’s way out of her, raspy and too quiet.

  
  


Eve’s brown eyes squint at her ever so slightly.

  
  


“I need you to answer me _properly_ , Villanelle. Remember?”

  
  


Villanelle wets her lips and clears her throat.

  
  


“Yes... I, I want you to punish me, Eve.” Her voice is louder this time, but shaky with nerves and anticipation, and, God, is she aroused already? 

  
  


Shit.

  
  


“You agree then, that you deserve to be punished for what you’ve done?” Eve’s voice is low and steady now, and she’s starting to move around the room, her steps slow and measured.

  
  


Villanelle does not think that question really requires an answer, because she definitely deserves whatever Eve has planned for her.

  
  


“Yes.” She says again anyway, because she wants Eve to know how agreeable she is.

  
  


Eve is in the drawer of her desk now, and there’s a shuffle of papers as she sifts through, apparently looking for something.

  
  


“You’ve broken so many rules.” Eve sighs, keeping her back to Villanelle as she straightens up, and fiddles momentarily with whatever it is she’s finally retrieved. “And they’re more than just rules to me, Villanelle. They’re laws. Do you know why we have laws?”

  
  


“Umm, so that people behave themselves?”

  
  


It really is a shot in the dark, and Eve sighs again, so Villanelle suspects that means her answer is lacking.

  
  


“To prevent chaos. And you have caused a lot of chaos around here lately, haven’t you?”

  
  


Villanelle eyes widen at the words, and then again at Eve as she turns, a set of silver handcuffs dangling from her lax fingertips.

  
  


“So, I’m going to cuff you, and keep you here until I can trust you to be good. Do you think that you can be good, Villanelle?”

  
  


Villanelle swallows thickly, because if she’s truthful she’s not too sure. 

  
  


“I do not know if I can be good.” She confesses, biting her lip now, worried she will upset Eve. “No one has ever said that I am good before, so...”

  
  


Eve tilts her head slightly, approaching her, and Villanelle feels suddenly very small on the tiny chair. It’s a feeling she’s very ill-accustomed to, and for some reason that makes the whole thing even more exhilarating.

  
  


“Okay. What about if I asked you whether you can be good _for me?_ ”

  
  


Eve places so much more emphasis on the last two words, and Villanelle shifts in her chair again. She does not need to think about her answer for long, because the thought of pleasing Eve, of being good for her is intoxicating.

  
  


“Yes, I, I want to be good for you... I want to be my _best_ for you, Eve.”

  
  


Eve smiles a little at that, her free hand grazing Villanelle’s cheek, and it’s the first time she’s ever touched her face. It’s the lightest of touches but it makes Villanelle want to shiver; she fights against it, forcing the tension in her muscles to back down.

  
  


“You have a beautiful face.” Eve whispers, in a brief moment of tenderness, and although it is fleeting it’s still warm. “Now put your hands out, so I can cuff you.”

  
  


Villanelle is no stranger to handcuffs, in fact she’s lost count of the number of times she’s been arrested over the years, but still, this feels new. Because normally she kicking, and screaming, and fighting, revolting against being restrained and controlled; but this time, with Eve, she slowly outstretches her arms, exposing her wrists and, in turn, showing her willingness. 

  
  


Eve presses the cuffs on, the cool metal wrapping around Villanelle’s skin as she tightens them with a series of resonating clicks. Eve then slips two fingers underneath, circling the space between skin and steel, ensuring it’s tight enough to prevent her from slipping out, but not so tight that it could hurt.

  
  


“You’ve been a very naughty girl.” Eve whispers in her ear, her lips ghosting the shell and her breath temperate and close. “And I want you to apologise to me, for what you’ve done tonight.”

  
  


“Okay...” Villanelle lifts her chin, because an apology to Eve will be easy for her, she’s apologised many times already after all. “I’m sorry I-“

  
  


“No.” Eve cuts her off with a frown, and a small shake of her head, perhaps sensing Villanelle’s increasing nerve. “I want you to apologise on your knees.”

  
  


“On my... knees?” Villanelle echoes back, her voice fading out towards the end as she internalises the demand. She hesitates, not because she doesn’t want to do it, but because she’s somewhat conflicted by how much she does.

  
  


“Yes. Get on your knees and apologise to me.” Eve’s voice is, if possible, even sterner now, as though she is growing impatient.

  
  


Villanelle slips down the wooden seat and onto the floor, barely holding back a pout. She doesn’t like it, she realises, when Eve is unhappy with her, or... dissatisfied. Yes, Villanelle thinks, that might be a better word for it.

  
  


“Hurry up.”

  
  


Villanelle settles onto her knees, her cuffed hands curling in her lap and her large hazel eyes fixing on Eve’s face. Despite Eve’s urge for haste, Villanelle takes a few seconds to appreciate her new vantage point. It’s almost reverent the way she’s gazing up at Eve now, and she drinks in the soft profile of her face and the halo of her wild dark curls, silhouetted against the bare ceiling bulb.

  
  


“I’m sorry.” Villanelle whispers, because her new position makes her feel so devout that even speaking seems too disrespectful. “I am sorry for everything I did tonight. I knew the rules and I broke them anyway.”

  
  


Eve exhales noisily and it sets Villanelle on edge, because she doesn’t know what Eve is thinking, or feeling, or whether her apology is even close to what she’s expecting.

  
  


“That’s a good start.” Eve acknowledges, and Villanelle is instantly caught up in her, hanging onto her every word like a butterfly, trapped in a spider’s web. “But I’m curious, _why_ did you break them, and why so many?”

  
  


Villanelle puzzles on that for a moment, because questions like that demand honesty, and honesty is not trait that she has ever valued or really even sought in herself before. In fact, Villanelle lies so often, she sometimes does not even know whether she is telling the truth or not.

  
  


However, on this occasion the truth is fortunately rather obvious.

  
  


“I...” Villanelle falters, because she wants so much to get this right for Eve, and also for herself. “I suppose I did it so that I would get your attention.”

  
  


Now it’s Eve’s turn to falter, because apparently that’s not the answer she’s been anticipating.

  
  


“ _What?!_ ” Eve blurts out, her face the perfect picture of confusion, all marred with asymmetrical lines and creases. “You did _all that_ to get my attention?”

  
  


Villanelle shrugs, which in turn reminds her that she’s handcuffed, because her shoulders feel narrower and a little squeezed together.

  
  


“Yes, I did it because I like to see your reaction to what I have done.”

  
  


“You like it when I’m cross with you?” Eve asks, sounding a little bit irked by the notion. Villanelle shakes her head rapidly, keen to dispel it.

  
  


“No! No, I like it when you are pleased with me! I just, I...” Villanelle swallows. “I like...”

  
  


“Attention.” Eve repeats. “Because you are naughty and spoilt.”

  
  


“Yes.” She admits, dropping her head, feeling a little sorry for herself now. Because she surely can’t help being so spoilt, it’s just a natural by-product of getting everything that she wants all of the time.

  
  


“Hmm.” Eve hums back, the sound coming from deep within her chest. “This is quite the predicament you’re in, then.”

  
  


“I know.” Villanelle murmurs, still staring hard at the ground. “I want to be good for you though, Eve. I really, really do.”

  
  


Villanelle gnaws at her lower lip for several seconds, before finally looking up again and asking:

  
  


“Do you think you can help me?”

  
  


Eve makes a funny noise in the back of her throat, and it would be almost unmissable if it were not for the fact that Villanelle is watching and listening to her so keenly.

  
  


Villanelle does not really know what the noise means in terms of Eve’s inner thought process, but she thinks it must be good because her eyes seem to darken and her breathing gets a little faster.

  
  


“Yes, I can help you.” Eve replies finally. “But I still need to punish you first.”

  
  


Villanelle feels a rush pass through her; like something just entered into her bloodstream, like Eve just entered into her bloodstream, maybe. And her heart speeds up all over again, pumping whatever it is around and around, and it makes her head feel light and her underwear wet.

  
  


“How will you punish me?” She finds herself asking immediately, and oh, so eagerly, far more eagerly than she would ever want to intend. But her embarrassment, if any, is rapidly overshadowed by her want.

  
  


Eve’s eyes dip up and down over her body, and it would be completely predatory if it wasn’t for the little bit of softness that’s present there too. Villanelle decides she likes that mix a lot, the oil and water effect of hard and soft.

  
  


“Stand up.” Eve orders, as she circles round behind her. And Villanelle knows she grabs hold of the chair, because she hears the legs scrape across the floor seconds later. It’s a jarring and unpleasant sound, but also delightfully ominous.

  
  


Villanelle gets quickly to her feet, her legs pushing her upwards and counteracting the limitations placed on her balance by her handcuffed arms. She feels the effects of gravity in her head and between her legs, with a slight spin and gush.

  
  


“I‘m going to spank you.” Eve announces now, as she settles herself on the chair. Villanelle turns to her, her eyes, eyebrows and forehead sliding up as far as they can go. 

  
  


“Spank me?” She checks, still staring at Eve, who looks so calm and unmoved by her evident surprise.

  
  


“Yes, Villanelle. I’m going to spank you for being such a naughty little girl for the past six weeks.” Eve tsks then, sucking air through her teeth before she utters: “Six weeks worth of spanking, ouch.”

  
  


Villanelle finds herself plunged into a world without language again, words fizzling to nothing before they can even reach her tongue.

  
  


Eve tilts her head at her, her left hand rubbing her thigh invitingly.

  
  


“Now, get over here and bend over my knee.”

  
  


Villanelle’s feet start and stop, like her whole body is stuttering now, unable to produce any meaningful sound or movement.

  
  


“Do I need to come and get you?” Eve‘s voice is light and a little teasing, but her eyes remain intense and serious, and Villanelle still doesn’t move or answer, Eve flickers with annoyance. “I asked you a question, Villanelle, and it is very rude not to answer me.”

  
  


Villanelle shudders, and it feels _so good_. It feels so good to be taken charge of, she realises, because no one has ever taken charge of her before. Ever.

  
  


“Please.” Villanelle says, voice hushed.

  
  


“Please, what?”

  
  


“Come and get me.” The words tumble out so easily and yet it tugs inside of her, meeting a pleasurable resistance that she cannot fathom or explain. “I want you to come and get me, Eve.”

  
  


If Eve is surprised by this she does not show it, she simply rises from the chair and closes the distance between them.

  
  


“You really do need a lot of help, don’t you.” Eve acknowledges, but she does not sound angry or upset, and Villanelle can only mew back agreeably in response.

  
  


Eve presses a firm hand into the small of her back, forcing Villanelle’s muscles to fire on memory as she revels in the fact that Eve is pushing her towards the chair: she revels in the fact that someone, _that Eve_ , is directing her and commanding her - and is surely about to utterly and unapologetically dominate her.

  
  


“Take your pants down.”

  
  


“I...” Villanelle lifts her joined hands unsurely, reminding Eve of the handcuffs, but not wanting to outright refuse her either.

  
  


“Right.” Eve accepts, and she reaches to undo the singular button of Villanelle’s pants, and then tugs unceremoniously on the zip, and the patterned fabric gives so easily, dropping round her ankles in mere seconds. “Now bend over my lap so I can spank that hot little ass of yours.”

  
  


Villanelle enters the wordless place for a third time, barely making a small strangled noise of anticipation as she waits for Eve to sit back down on the chair and watches as she pushes up the sleeves of her blouse. Villanelle then lowers herself carefully, tucking her cuffed hands into her chest, her elbows resting just beyond the far side of Eve’s lap. She feels a literal whoosh of exposure as her bottom, clad only in the thin lace of her already damp panties, rises up and into position. And she waits then, breath bated, because she knows what’s coming.

  
  


Or at least she thinks she does.

  
  


What actually happens is, Eve runs her hand up her bare thigh, tracing just below the curve of her bottom and back down again. She leans forward, speaking ever so quietly and says:

  
  


“I’m going to start gently, and if it gets too much you need to tell me. Okay?”

  
  


Villanelle can only nod, and Eve continues to stroke her thigh, almost strumming over the skin now with the gentle graze of her nails.

  
  


“Okay.” Villanelle says after a substantial delay, forcing the word out from the confines of her mind; because she worries that if she does not Eve may never proceed at all. And it is strange what she grows to realise in the waiting: that she is close to _begging_ Eve to spank her, and that even the act of begging Eve itself holds its own completely unfamiliar appeal.

  
  


Eve’s hand finally ascends the rise of Villanelle’s cheek, circling her skin through the lace, her touch still so soft and gentle, and Villanelle simply can’t help herself; she starts to wriggle.

  
  


She is so very impatient.

  
  


“Eve, I want-“

  
  


“No.” Eve shuts her down. “You are so, so spoilt, aren’t you? So used to getting your own way.”

  
  


“Yes, Eve.” She sighs back, trying so hard to relax again, trying so hard to be good. “I’m sorry.”

  
  


“Thank you.” Eve breathes back, tapping lightly at her bottom now, the way you might tap someone on the shoulder. “I’m in control here, not you. Do you understand?”

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle nods, her eyes roaming the grain of the hardwood floor as Eve circles her other cheek now, and she thinks it could almost constitute a massage it is so slow and sensual. And then there’s a squeeze, light again, her skin cupped in Eve’s palm.

  
  


“I think you’re ready for your punishment now, hmm?” Eve’s voice is so low it buzzes, and she delivers a few more taps and then a slightly firmer smack. It does not hurt, not at all really, but it does result in a lovely sharp clapping sound.

  
  


“Yes, I’m so ready, I-“ Villanelle stops herself there, because she still has at least some modicum of self-restraint, and as much as she might _want_ to beg Eve, it doesn’t mean that she’s actually going to.

  
  


“I want you to recite all the rules you’ve broken on my list, one by one and word for word.” Eve dictates to her now. “And if you mess up, you have to start all over again. Do you understand me?”

  
  


“Yes, I... I understand.”

  
  


Villanelle feels a nervous rush of adrenaline, adrenaline because she’s going to get spanked and adrenaline because of the task Eve has just set her. A task that would not be overwhelming in the slightest, because she has an excellent memory, were it not for the fact that Eve seems to be able to render her absolutely speechless.

  
  


“Good girl.” Eve commends, and then smacks her again, a little harder this time, and it saddles her skin with a warm, dull ache. “Start from the top.”

  
  


“Rule one...” Villanelle closes her eyes, trying to picture Eve’s little laminate card, and trying not to get too distracted by the circling palm of Eve’s hand over her underwear, which seems to be winding up and getting ready to strike again. “Follow the campus rules and regulations, health and safety rules and _fire_ -“ Villanelle cuts out with a gasp when Eve strikes her again. “...fire safety rules.”

  
  


“Mm, and you _deliberately_ started a fire, didn’t you.” Eve reminds. “Which was very dangerous and very, very naughty. I think I should spank you again for that one, actually.”

  
  


And so she does, she swats her other cheek and it feels like a bee-sting, sharp and burning. Villanelle lets out a small, high pitched sound in response, a shiver running up from the bottom of her spine.

  
  


“I don’t think I broke rule two.” Villanelle says, speaking quickly, because rule two is about conducting redecoration works and tampering with wiring. “Although I did think about it - _agh!_ ” She grunts out as Eve slaps her again, making another delightful cracking sound as skin collides with skin.

  
  


“That was for thinking about it.” Eve says.

  
  


Villanelle exhales noisily, her chest filling up with all these big, uncomfortable emotions. And it sounds like it must be bad, to be feeling these things, like Eve is creating some kind of new hurt inside of her - or that she is making a hole in her carefully constructed armour. But it really is the opposite, Eve is filling a hole; because even when she was a child no one ever really cared enough to discipline her. They hurt her, but that was different, Villanelle realises, because when they hurt her it was regardless of whether she’d done something wrong or not.

  
  


“Rule three, do not undertake any rearrangement or refurbishment in the dormitories or the common spaces, without due permission.”

  
  


The spoken rule hangs in the air, and Villanelle waits for her punishment as Eve’s fingers graze over her slightly aching skin.

  
  


“Did you have permission when you rearranged the common room, Villanelle?”

  
  


“No.” Villanelle replies, and Eve swats her instantly. The timing is unbelievably cathartic and Villanelle shivers again.

  
  


“No, you did not.” Eve’s voice is velvety rich now, steeped in power. “And who should you have asked for permission?”

  
  


Villanelle’s throat constricts, and she struggles for a moment to speak.

  
  


“ _You._ ” She whispers back.

  
  


Another smack, and another. And Villanelle shifts in Eve’s lap, feeling more and more wetness and pressure between her legs.

  
  


“R-rule four.” Villanelle lifts her hips a little, trying to find friction against Eve’s thigh. “It is forbidden to... ughh, Eve, I am so wet, I-“

  
  


Eve claps her hand over her ass so hard Villanelle squeaks, she _squeaks_ like a pathetic little mouse.

  
  


“Start again.” Eve admonishes.

  
  


“Rule four-“

  
  


“No, Villanelle. No.” Eve is circling her bottom and dipping down her thigh again, her fingertips cool to her warmed skin. “I told you if you messed up you’d have to start over. So start again, from the beginning.”

  
  


“What?” Villanelle frowns, and she feels a little bit like she might cry. “That’s... it’s not fair, Eve, I - a _h!_ ”

  
  


Eve swots the underside of her cheek, cupping the stinging skin in her palm afterwards, and Villanelle starts to feel her eyes stinging now too.

  
  


“Rule...” Villanelle tries to start again, but her lower lip is protruding and wobbly, and she feels so, so sad. “I am sorry, Eve.” She blurts out now on a shaky breath, and she feels a tear slip onto her cheek. A tear that she cannot even wipe away because she is still handcuffed, so she is forced to let it run. “I did not mean to, Eve, I really am sorry. Please do not make me start over, I - I can’t - I -.”

  
  


“Ssh.” Eve quietens her, running a hand through her blonde hair. “It was an accident, hm?”

  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle nods, sniffling.

  
  


“And it doesn’t seem fair because you were trying so, so hard to be good for me, right?”

  
  


“Yes!” Villanelle cries out a little louder than she means to, and more tears fall, because she feels lightened to know that Eve understands her, and that she realises she was not being purposefully bad.

  
  


“But...” Eve sighs out heavily, tapping Villanelle’s bottom lightly again, serving as a gentle reminder that her other hand is still there. “A rule is a rule, Villanelle, and you did agree to follow my rule, didn’t you?”

  
  


Villanelle’s pouting lip quivers, because she did agree to Eve’s rule and she knows now that she will definitely be made to start all over again. And although she does still feel sad about it, she also feels a little relieved that Eve is not going to let her get away with it.

  
  


“Yes, Eve. I did.”

  
  


So, Villanelle starts again, even though her voice is still a little snivelly to begin with and her face is still tracked with tears. And Eve punishes her like it’s the first time; there is no allowance made for the fact she has been struck several times already, or for the fact she has already been punished once before for rules one through three.

  
  


By the time Villanelle has recounted all eleven rules, her skin is humming and even the light lace of her panties is beginning to feel uncomfortable against her skin. She’s wet too, so unbelievably wet, and she does not even know if Eve will touch her like that yet. Villanelle hopes that she will, but if she doesn’t, then Villanelle just hopes Eve will remove the handcuffs soon and at least give her permission to touch herself.

  
  


“You’ve been such a good girl for me.” Eve is practically purring, she sounds so happy, and Villanelle feels happy too, as a warm feeling radiates all through her system. “You took your punishment so well, even though it was so hard for you to start again.”

  
  


Villanelle lets out a little moan of agreement, butting her hips against Eve’s thigh again. She wants to come so badly she’s not sure which part of her is throbbing more right now, and her ass is throbbing _a lot_.

  
  


“Stand up and get on the bed.” Eve instructs suddenly, and Villanelle almost startles in surprise.

  
  


“The bed?” Villanelle can’t keep the gleam of hope from her voice, because she really wants Eve to fuck her senseless now, and the bed makes for a very promising move in that direction.

  
  


“Yes. I want you on your front.”

  
  


Villanelle struggles to stand, because she’s been bent over for so long, and her arms have pins and needles from being crushed against her chest, and her legs are unsteady, and her ass is sore, and there’s a river running between her legs.

  
  


Eve supports her though by holding her round her waist, and it’s just enough to get her upright, she teeters for a moment as the blood rushes back down from her head, and then she walks a little ungraciously towards the mattress before flopping down on it with a groan.

  
  


Villanelle sinks into Eve’s bedding. It’s perhaps the only personalised item in the room, a light paisley blue duvet cover and dark blue throw, and it all smells like Eve. Villanelle buries her nose into the fabric and just breathes her scent in, her eyes closing.

  
  


“You’d better not be falling asleep.” Eve is climbing onto the mattress beside her now, and Villanelle feels the springs shift as her own body rolls a little in Eve’s direction.

  
  


“No, I am not.” Villanelle says as she turns her head to the side and opens her eyes. “Your bed just smells like you, that is all.”

  
  


Eve studies her curiously, perhaps caught off guard by such a personal comment being delivered so unashamedly in this moment. And Villanelle thinks she might be about to ask her more about it, to follow it up with a question about what it is Villanelle thinks she smells like, but she doesn’t.

  
  


Instead, Eve slips a finger under the lace strip of Villanelle’s panties, the part that runs just along her left hip, and she tugs it down a little.

  
  


“I’m going to take these off now. And then we’re going to talk about what needs to happen next.”

  
  


Villanelle is surprised that there needs to be any further discussion, because she’s already apologised and she’s also already been punished for what she has done, too.

  
  


Villanelle nods agreeably however, because she really would like Eve to remove her panties. So she lifts her hips several inches, giving Eve express permission to take off her underwear; and as Eve draws the fabric down she feels the full force of her own wetness as it collides with nothing but air.

  
  


“Fuck...” She murmurs out with a little embarrassment then; and she does not really know why, because it’s not something she would ordinarily be embarrassed about at all. But then, she would not ordinarily be this wet either.

  
  


“Oh, Villanelle...” Eve sighs back, and Villanelle thinks she might sound at least a little bit sympathetic. “You’re soaking wet, aren’t you.”

  
  


It’s not even a question really, and Villanelle is pretty sure that Eve did not intend it as one, so she chooses not to comment directly upon it at all.

  
  


“Please can I come now?” Villanelle asks, trying not to sound as desperate for it as she feels. “I really want you to touch me, Eve, but if you do not want to that is okay, I will understand. But I would like you to uncuff me if that is the case, so that I can at least touch myself?”

  
  


Eve is smirking at her, her eyes warm and dancing.

  
  


“I will uncuff you.” She says, and Villanelle squirms on the bed, feeling a big, swirling mix of emotions again. She feels very disappointed that perhaps Eve will not be touching her like that; but she also feels exhilarated, because it seems she will soon get to seek her own release, and she really does need it so badly. “But I don’t want you to touch yourself.” Eve adds now, and Villanelle’s stomach plummets.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“You heard me.” Eve scrunches up Villanelle's sodden black panties now and tosses them to the floor. “Now, turn over so I can take your cuffs off.”

  
  


Villanelle shifts onto her back, holding her hands out in front of her, so that Eve can remove the handcuffs with a small key she pulls from her front pocket. 

  
  


Once her hands are free, she stretches them out, enjoying her new range of movement and rolling her wrists slightly. They are not sore from the handcuffs exactly, but just from being still for so long.

  
  


“Now, we need to deal with your eighty-two transgressions.” Eve says briskly, and she leans over Villanelle to grab something from her bedside table. It’s a hairbrush, a wooden one with a short handle and a broad flat back. “I want to spank you with this, eighty-two times.”

  
  


Villanelle makes a garbled sound as her suddenly inhaled breath hits the back of her throat too hard, and at a funny, upward angle.

  
  


“It will hurt a lot.” Eve tells her, tapping the brush against her own palm. “But I think you can take it. My hand wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

  
  


Villanelle is speechless again, because the thought that Eve’s hand wasn’t enough had certainly not crossed her mind.

  
  


“I... no, I...” Villanelle swallows and frowns, not quite sure what answer to give her, or what answer she wants. “It felt so good, Eve. It... it really, really stung. It is still stinging me now.”

  
  


Eve hums at that, still tapping away softly at her palm.

  
  


“But you could have taken more, couldn’t you? You didn’t really cry out. And I _really_ want to hear you crying out, Villanelle.”

  
  


A nod is about all Villanelle can manage, and she rolls herself back over, drawing her knees up a little and offering her bare bottom to Eve.

  
  


Eve immediately reaches out to rub her palm over Villanelle’s cheeks, and to give her lower back a little massage too. It feels tender and kind, and Villanelle relaxes easily into her touch, pushing her bottom out and arching her back even more. She feels a little bit like a kitten, all snuggled up on the bed with Eve’s hands stroking her exposed skin over and over.

  
  


“I’m going to start gently, okay? Otherwise we won’t make it to eighty-two.” Eve informs her now, still stroking her, only now the strokes are laced with the occasional tap and swot of her hand. “I’m just warning you up a little first.”

  
  


Villanelle doesn’t think she can take much more warming up, she already feels like her body is on fire, and somehow even more wetness keeps seeping from inside of her. She wonders if she will ever run out, or if her arousal for Eve is really just as never-ending as it seems.

  
  


Eve switches from her hand to the hairbrush almost seamlessly, in fact the only reason Villanelle really notices is because the brush isn’t as warm as Eve’s hand and the sound is a little bit more hollow.

  
  


“ _One, two, three..._ ”

  
  


Eve counts under her breath every time she pats the brush against Villanelle’s skin, and the first twenty, although close together, are really not too bad at all. But after that, Eve begins to swing a little harder and the sting is surely tantamount to four hands coming down on her all at once. It makes Villanelle hiss, and she has to keep readjusting her position, because her knees no longer seem to want to hold her bottom up; they keep sliding back and threatening to flatten her body against the mattress. Villanelle will not let that happen though, because she wants to offer herself up to Eve, she does not want to just lie down and take it.

  
  


“ _Twenty-eight...twenty-nine..._ ”

  
  


The thirties and forties are a bit of a mess, because Eve is slapping her silly, spattering her cheeks with swipes so brisk and fast it reminds Villanelle of hailstones, and her skin thrums with heat and smarts with pain. Villanelle shouts out several times, her hands grabbing futilely at the duvet cover as she fights to keep herself still and compliant.

  
  


“Eve, fuck...” She murmurs, her mouth pressing into a pillow, and she realises then she must have travelled further up the bed than she thought.

  
  


“You’re doing so, so well, baby.” Eve praises softly, speaking close to her ear. “I am so proud of you, you are being so good for me.”

  
  


Another flash of warmth finds it way between her legs, as Eve switches her focus back to spanking and counting.

  
  


“ _Forty-five.....forty-six......_ ”

  
  


And Villanelle feels so swollen now, her entire blood supply seeming to pool below her waist as Eve continues to rain down on her tenderised skin.

  
  


When Eve reaches forty-nine she stops, and it’s so abrupt that Villanelle gasps for a breath that she didn’t even know she needed. There’s a brief lull then, where Villanelle attempts to collect herself, her face still lost in the pillow and her body now becoming far more slumped than arched.

  
  


Villanelle tripods her knees slightly and reaffirms her previous position, her bottom surely beacon red at this point and radiating so much heat that the rest of her is beginning to feel almost quite chilly, and she’s glad she still has her shirt on.

  
  


“How are you feeling?” Eve asks softly, and Villanelle peeks one eye at her from the lumpy mound of her pillow.

  
  


“My arse is very hot and very sore.” She says honestly. “And I think I will burst if I do not come soon, Eve.”

  
  


“Mmm.” Eve mews sadly, running the brush along the back of her left leg, and then trailing it up between her thighs. Villanelle‘s knees slide out a little further to accommodate it, and she worries that if Eve goes up any higher she won’t be able to stop herself from unravelling completely.

  
  


“I’m going to spank the back of your thighs now.” Eve says as plainly as ever, smoothing the hairbrush up and down Villanelle’s hypersensitive skin. “I really, really love spanking you...”

  
  


Villanelle exhales heavily into the pillow, her breath foggy and warm as it bounces back over her face; and she feels for a moment as though she might even suffocate in her own irrepressible desire.

  
  


Eve resumes counting again, from fifty now, swatting softly and steadily at the back of Villanelle’s thighs. And it should not really hurt, Villanelle thinks, because Eve really is being so gentle; but her thighs are toned and muscular, and each swat clusters over her skin like a collection of storm clouds across an otherwise clear sky.

  
  


“Agh, Eve!” She grunts out, although she does not want Eve to stop, because the pain is starting to give her an endorphin rush that is almost euphoric.

  
  


But Eve does stop, the brush almost instantly stilling and resting firmly against her right thigh.

  
  


“Villanelle...” She says low and soft, leaning forward on her empty hand and drawing herself closer, so that their heads are almost level. “Just take a breath, okay?”

  
  


Villanelle swallows audibly, because Eve is so near to her, and her lips look so full and perfect, and she thinks it would be amazing to kiss her right now.

  
  


“Can I kiss you?” Villanelle asks, because she is never scared to ask such things. She is shocked however by how laboured her own breathing sounds, as the words fight to slot around each exhaled pant and draw of air.

  
  


Eve looks hesitant, but not nervous, her almost black eyes dropping to Villanelle’s mouth.

  
  


“After.” Eve finally concludes. “You’re still not done with your punishment.”

  
  


Villanelle groans again because she’s turned on, because she enjoys Eve scolding her, and because it’s so relieving to finally be given a consequence for her actions. 

  
  


Villanelle steadies herself as Eve dusts her thighs with five more quick taps, before coolly announcing:

  
  


“By the way, that makes sixty-two.”

  
  


Villanelle turns her head a little to look back at Eve, curious. She can sense a shift in the atmosphere, and her heart races in response, and the space between her legs fills with an even deeper ache.

  
  


“These last twenty are really going to hurt.” Eve’s hand grazes over the hill of Villanelle’s bottom again, like an artist assessing her canvas. “I want you to think about everything you’ve done wrong and how very, very sorry you are.”

  
  


Villanelle lets out a long, slow breath and nods, facing forwards and dipping her head. She expects it to hurt, she expects it to really, really hurt, just like Eve said, but nothing could have prepared her for what comes.

  
  


“Sixty three.” Eve only whispers the numbers out now, and it’s a stark contrast to the power she drives into her strike.

  
  


The brush collides with Villanelle’s already hot and tender skin, and it feels like lightening. It feels like fire. It burns.

  
  


“Fuck!” Villanelle yells, and she pushes her face down into the pillow, immediately regretting the manoeuvre when it pushes her hips up even higher.

  
  


Another whisper:

  
  


“Sixty four.”

  
  


Another lightning strike, which seems to burn straight through her skin.

  
  


Eve is being slow she realises, giving her time in between, giving her time to breathe. But her skin just keeps on searing, like the fire doesn’t even come close to burning out, and right before she thinks it might...

  
  


Sixty-five. 

  
  


....

  
  


....

  
  


Sixty-six.

  
  


...

  
  


...

  
  


Sixty-seven has her almost crying, her eyes clenched shut, her throat caught on some lump or bump, or ball of emotion that threatens to choke her.

  
  


Sixty-eight, Eve says:

  
  


“I hope you’re thinking about what you’ve done.”

  
  


Sixty-nine, and she’s crying now, crying because it doesn’t just hurt, crying because she doesn’t understand how it feels so bad and so good all at the same time, crying because she’s thinking about how badly she’s tormented Eve.

  
  


...

  
  


...

  
  


Seventy, she’s still crying.

  
  


...

  
  


...

  
  


Seventy-one, she’s saying she’s sorry.

  
  


...

  
  


...

  
  


Seventy-two, she’s saying she’s so, so, sooo sorry.

  
  


...

  
  


...

  
  


Seventy-three nearly breaks her. Villanelle rears up and grabs onto the headboard, because if she doesn’t hold onto something she’s going to collapse.

  
  


Villanelle gets lost then, gets lost in the searing pain, gets lost in her own yelling, and gets lost in Eve’s whispers...

  
  


Her eyes are clenched, and her fists are soldered around the metal curve of the headboard bars, and she’s never been so sorry, or wet, or swollen in her whole life.

  
  


Villanelle cries Eve’s name over and over again, and she wants her to stop and never stop all at the same time.

  
  


“Eighty-two.” Eve whispers in her ear, and Villanelle doesn’t even feel her presence this time, doesn’t even register the smell of her shampoo or the almost-press of her lips.

  
  


Villanelle spirals when the final blow comes, her skin furiously hot like molten lava, her face wet and her thighs soaked. She slumps over the headboard, sobs, hiccups, and ragged breaths, all fighting and clawing to break through to the surface.

  
  


Eve immediately rubs her back, she tells her she’s _good_ , that she’s been _so, so good for her_ ; and hearing those words make more tears spill, and some of the heat from Eve’s punishing blows spreads upwards and into her chest. And Villanelle feels strangely whole and full all of a sudden, a feeling that she’s been chasing and craving in one way or another, ever since she was a little girl.

  
  


“Lie down, and turn over.” Eve is still whispering, leaning over Villanelle’s back now, hair tickling skin, lips ghosting shoulders. “I’m going to fuck you.”

  
  


Villanelle lets out a small moan, because she’s well beyond simply yearning for it, she’s absolutely desperate for it; she _needs_ it, she needs it like she needs food, or sleep, or water, or air.

  
  


Eve eases her over, and it’s painful and raw, because her skin can barely touch the sheets without striking her all over again. Villanelle hisses and lifts her hips, and Eve draws herself over her like a snake, silent and lithe, and hypnotic.

  
  


“I’m going to go slowly.” Eve tells her, and her hand is already trailing her stomach, circling her navel and then it’s rising up and under her shirt.

  
  


Villanelle presses on her elbows to bridge her back, and Eve has her bra unclasped, and her shirt coming off in a haze of seconds that can’t seem to come quickly or slowly enough.

  
  


And she’s completely naked then, her body and soul bared, her face still tracked and swollen with tears, and the spot between her legs no better, because it’s undeniably swollen, wet and thrumming. And Villanelle isn’t sure if she can take even one touch there without exploding.

  
  


Eve kisses her, she kisses her everywhere, her mouth her neck, her collarbone. Eve trails kisses over every inch of her, and as she descends further down, nuzzling and licking, and gnawing at her breasts, and blowing warm puffs of air over her nipples, Villanelle loses herself all over again.

  
  


Forgotten language spills from her tongue; it’s Russian, and despite the fact she hasn’t spoke it since she was small, she can’t imagine speaking anything else right now.

  
  


Eve’s hands drift, they drift like a small avalanche of snow, pushing down and sweeping over her hot, soaking core, and Villanelle is shuddering almost instantly.

  
  


“No.” Eve commands her, and Villanelle can barely internalise the word. “You don’t get to come until I say you can.”

  
  


And that just about ends her. Villanelle squeezes her eyes shut, plunging herself into darkness, trying to deaden any senses she can so that she might not feel any subsequent touches quite so intensely.

  
  


Eve slips inside of her and she feels herself spill out around her fingers, feels her muscles drawing her in, and it’s all so involuntarily at this point that she doesn’t know if she can stop herself from coming, no matter how hard she tries.

  
  


She wants to tell Eve, she wants to plead with her to let her come just one time, because she’s been building up to this for so long now it’s like her body has run away with itself; it’s like she’s been driving too fast and the only way to stop now is to lose all control of the car, and crash. And Villanelle is so close to crashing.

  
  


Eve’s fingers move in and out, and the sound is so slippery and ridiculously loud, as more and more of Villanelle spills out, stickying her thighs and Eve’s hands.

  
  


Villanelle moans as Eve runs the length of her, brushing over her clit before looping back down again, and she’s already sending out some very early shock-waves, and it feels almost like a second heartbeat now, pulsing between her legs.

  
  


“Eve, I can’t!” Villanelle gasps it out, the English language returning to her, her hands flying from her hair, to her face, to the sheets, and then back to hair her again. It’s like she’s stuck in a frenzied loop, and there’s only way out of it. “Eve, please...”

  
  


Eve sighs softly, her eyes finding Villanelle’s, and she shifts up her body again, presses soft lips to soft lips, steals the breath right out from her lungs and leaves her agonisingly short all over again.

  
  


“Tell me why I should let you.”

  
  


“I...” Villanelle's mind is blank, swept clean by the tide of her desire. She shifts her hips a little, being careful not to chafe her flaming skin on the sheets.

  
  


Villanelle feels so hopelessly wrung out now, and in the absence of thought she considers begging Eve again; only really, really begging her this time.

  
  


Please, please, please, she thinks, her hips lifting.

  
  


“Tell me why.” Eve repeats, her hand too light and lazy in its ministrations now to provide anywhere near enough friction, and Villanelle whines. She _whines_ , and she’s too far gone to even be embarrassed about it.

  
  


“Because I am sorry!” Villanelle finally blurts, and the words are a sort of release in themselves. “I am sorry for causing you so much trouble, Eve!”

  
  


Eve’s fingers slips up again, nudging at her clit, sending yet more wetness and pressure pooling between her thighs. Villanelle tips her head back in response, drawing her legs up so that they’re now wide open and bent at the knees.

  
  


“I... I am sorry...” She continues, spurred on by the fact that every apology brings her closer to absolution from her past, and to liberation from her current state of longing. “I am sorry, sorry I am so spoiled, and entitled and... oh, _fuck_ , Eve!”

  
  


Eve circles her clit, round, and round, and round, and her whole body is tingling, and twisting and trembling. She’s going to come, she’s going to come if Eve doesn’t stop.

  
  


It pains her to push Eve’s hand away, but she does, and she’s a groaning, moaning mess now, broken sounds and broken languages spilling from her mouth.

  
  


And even without Eve’s hand the pressure remains, like she’s dangling from the edge of a cliff, barely holding on, and if she moves even one muscle she’ll fall; she’ll fall so hard.

  
  


Eve kisses her neck, her palm smoothing the flat plain of her stomach as she dips her hand downwards. And Villanelle cries out, because if Eve touches her again now it’s definitely all over.

  
  


“I-I can’t stop it.” She stutters out, trying to warn Eve, because Eve still hasn’t given permission and she doesn’t want to disappoint her.

  
  


Eve presses over her clit again and Villanelle feels the first spasm, like a false start, her body so over-ready and so beyond the powers of her own constraint.

  
  


“Eve, Eve, I... I am... I am going to...”

  
  


“You can come.” Eve whispers, suddenly pulsing fingertips against her, and it’s so slippery, and hot, and overwhelming that her body slams into climax in an instant, obliterating her completely.

  
  


And it’s not an explosion, it’s an implosion; everything collapses inside of her, all at once. Her lungs deflate as air and guttural cries fall from her lips, and the walls between her legs draw everything so, so deep inside of her, draw Eve so deep inside of her, as she fills her with curling, teasing fingers.

  
  


And Villanelle is furling and unfurling all over the bed, rolling and folding, limbs rising and falling. Her skin flushed and on fire, barely able to tolerate what is happening to her, yet so utterly helpless to stop it.

  
  


She comes again she thinks, or maybe it’s all just one long wave, she honestly has no idea. But she rides it anyway, she is beholden to it, her whole body so flummoxed by this new sensation, by her complete lack of self-control and by Eve’s complete and utter possession of it.

  
  


Suddenly she’s able to breathe again, whooshing, deep breaths, that fill her lungs and re-oxygenate her blood. Eve’s fingers are still being pulled and squeezed inside of her, although it’s more of a fluttering now as the waves slowly peter out, subsiding from torrents to ripples.

  
  


Eve kisses her again, deeply, tongue teasing tongue, and their bodies together pressing even tighter. Villanelle sinks under the weight of her, and it’s comforting and calming somehow, in the derelict wake of her devastation.

  
  


“You were so good.” Eve hums into her mouth, and Villanelle makes a small noise in response, barely even able to kiss her back now, as her body slips into a post-climactic fog. And the shift is so rapid and marked that it leaves her almost unable to acclimatise at all, like she’s just stumbled her way up a mountain and into an uninhabitable higher altitude. “Your apologies to me were so perfect. You were so perfect for me, Villanelle.”

  
  


Something inside Villanelle lets go, a little broken part of her that’s been stuck for so long, the part of her that’s never had praise, or discipline, or care. And here Eve is giving her all of them; here Eve is giving her _everything_.

  
  


“I won’t ever do it again.” Villanelle exhales back, and she means it. She really, really means it. And she closes her eyes then, feels the magnetic drift and draw of sleep, as Eve pulls the midnight blue throw over her spent body and curls into her side.

  
  


There’s a few silent beats, a few seconds of just being, before Eve finally relinquishes a quiet but trusting:

  
  


“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me veryyyyy happy! Please let me know if you enjoyed it!


End file.
